Preface to the Prologue

Writing a book is much more complicated than expected. The reader sees the final draft, where hopefully all the typos, punctuation and grammatical error are caught. But in between having the idea, putting into words on paper and corrections, sometimes things change.

When I started this story I was an inexperienced writer ― not that I am any sort of expert now, but I have found out some important details about writing that never crossed my mind in the past. Before this book, I have concentrated on short stories, that is to say, I wrote until I was done and they usually were around twelve to seventeen pages. I never tried to write something quite this long before. With length comes the requirement of continuity and putting the details in the correct order for the reader. I have always approached any art by just jumping in the deep end.

Here's a perfect example. I wanted to learn to play the piano. The teachers wanted me to learn and practice scales and fingering first, "then you can learning this nice little ditty." To me, it was like learning chopsticks. BORING! No, I always wanted to learn how to play something far more difficult while I practiced the boring stuff.

I discovered when I decided to create a blog, the original first chapter was all wrong. It was centered on the detail and description of past events - not even the main characters. So, I wrote the current Chapter 1 about our Hero and of course I needed the Heroine- so she became the new Chapter 2. Both chapters are good. Yet, I thought If I picked up a book that started out with these Chapters - would I want to read it? My answer was I might give it a chance, but it doesn't grab me.

So Dear Readers, that is how the Preface was created and why it is placed after Chapter 2. Obviously, when published, it will be in its correct placement.

I am not just giving you an excerpt, as I have done for the other two Chapters, but the entire prologue. This sets the story line, introduces our scoundrel, and some entertainment. It's definitely not boring!

I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Prologue                                     Robert Mandeville

November, 1815  -  London

Moonlight shone through the window. It was barely enough light to determine where the bed was positioned. The large mirror over the dresser reflected what few moonbeams softly invaded the aging Countess Zilliken's bedchamber.

It also reflected a dark shape― a man, moving silently from the door toward the dresser and a large jewelry box. Opening the drawers of the box, one by one, he silently scooped out the jewelry in handfuls, depositing them in a sack. He lifted the lid and froze when a sweet melody suddenly started playing.           

"Lawrence? Is that you, Darling? I knew you'd come to me one day!"

Oh ho! The Countess has a lover!

Setting the sack on the dresser, he went swiftly to the bed whispering, "My Darling!" Sitting beside her, gathering her in his arms he smothered her with kisses. The Countess giggled, and then moaned at his insistent lips.

"Oh Lawrence, my own, my Darling ― why are you wearing a mask, Dear?"

"Just to make it more exciting and romantic! I remember what a passionate woman you are! I can't get enough of your kisses." He kissed her neck and nibbled her ear.

How am I going to get out of here?

Throwing the cover back she gushed "And I remember, Lawrence my Darling, how much you love my breasts!"

"Well - I - yes. Yes, I always loved ―"

Countess Zilliken tore open the bodice for her lover, her enormous bosom spilling out.

"For you, Lawrence! No one has ever tantalized them as you have!"

He gave an almost imperceptible shrug and leapt into the fray, licking and tugging, sucking and biting while she moaned, whispering loudly,
"Yes, yes, more, more Darling, more!

"Oh Lawrence, I have waited so long for you! Take me, my own. Take me! Ravish me until I pass out from pleasure."

Without hesitation, 'Lawrence' ripped her nightgown in two and buried himself in her hot little love tunnel. Peppery hot thrusts gave way eventually to slow and deep strokes.

"Yes, yes, I like that. Deep. Oh deeper. More, more please!"

Always eager to indulge a lady, he lifted her legs over his shoulders, his cock sinking to her depths, his fists full of breasts. He pumped deep and fast until she quivered and shook, gasping "Lawrence!" and fell back in la petite mort.     

                                                  ***

"What the hell took you so long?" complained Odell, as he handed Robert Mandeville the reins to his horse.

"She woke up!"

"Oh God, please tell me you didn't ―"

"NO! That's why it took me so long."

"You had to tie her up?"

"No, not exactly. She thought I was someone else."

"Who?"

 Robert sighed. He knew this little adventure would live forever in high tales and outright lies, but Odell was like a brother, so - why not?

"She thought I was 'Lawrence,' her long lost lover."

A look of confusion came over Odell's face. "So you pretended to…. Oh holy Mother of God!  You fucked that sweet old lady - she's ninety if she's a day!" Odell bent over the saddle with laughter, trying hard not to wake the quiet sleeping neighborhood. He burst out with, "Who knew you liked vintage honey pot!"  He continued to gasp for air.

Robert grinned from ear to ear, waiting until Odell was looking in his direction, and deliberately adjusted his bollocks. "Hey listen - she's a go-er! If I get lonely some night, I might just come back."

That performance made Odell collapse with laughter, falling completely off the horse, while Robert playfully shushed him.

                                                           

Two days later, afternoon

Robert Mandeville impatiently drummed his fingers on the side of his beer tankard, and then took a hurried drink. He poked his fingers into a vest pocket to locate his watch but didn't check it. The pub door opened and in walked the lanky Odell. Robert stood and reached out his hand. Odell shook the offered hand and sat down, opening his coat.

"Sorry I'm late. This pub was hard to find." Odell took a minute to survey the public house while Robert called for two fresh tankards. "Why did we come to this side of town?"

"I thought it would be safer to meet somewhere we aren't known and won't return to. How did we do?"

Pretty well, the pearls were almost difficult to get rid of - my agent says they'd be hard to sell because it was such a long strand. He offered forty quid.

I said 'No, I'll take 'em elsewhere' - he jumped back in line, sayin' 'No, no - I'll… I'll find a buyer - you know me.'

'I do, sez I, which is why I am tellin' you the price - Three hundred quid- take it or leave it!' He took it and the rest for another seventy quid." He shoved an envelope across the table to Robert.

Robert moved a small sack toward Odell. "From last night's party. We are never going to get rich this way, Odell."

"Well, maybe ya should hire yer self out as a gigolo. I hear they make good money from older ladies! Hah!"

"The thing is, I'd need a reference, and I can't go to the Countess and ask because she thinks I'm Lawrence."

Mandeville's dry wit made Odell chuckle with amusement. Shaking his head, He said, "I still can't believe you gave it up for the old girl."

"She is a very satisfied customer, as are we with her jewels."

"Yea, how's yer new idea workin'?"

"It's not. I was caught by Kathryn Wetherby last week repeating the rumor I created about her and Crofton. She slapped my face - twice- damn hard!

Apparently, that got back to the Regent, because I was called into the Secretary of War's office last week."

"The Secretary of War! NO! Why?"

Robert nodded his head solemnly. "I was told flatly to stop spreading the rumor about the possibility that Kathryn Wetherby and Crofton killed off her husband so Crofton could have the title. When I protested, he said ― 'Stop the rumor or get shanghaied into the military' to some very unpleasant location. The Regent required I apologize publicly at last night's party ― loud enough so that he could hear me across the room.

"I found out that damnable Crofton has not been in the country the last four years. He's been in France ― translating, or something, for the Regent. How was I to know? We were never close. In fact, I hated his guts when I was a kid. We had a bit of a falling out."

"So that's out? You won't become the Duke?"

"No. Not without killing him. Which would be difficult, I understand he is exceptionally good with pistols, muskets, carbines and swords of all types. Besides, if I got within 50 feet of him he'd leave or require me to leave.

"Nope. No Dukedom for me. However, I have an idea about the other side of my family."

'Your mother's side? They aren't wealthy."

"No, not them. My father's grandmother was a Barrett.

 "Christmas is coming, and I have just enough time. I might be able to get myself invited to Aythorpe Manor where two of the dumbest, most alcohol-ridden titmice live: my cousins James and Allen Barrett. If I can get rid of them, an Earldom could be mine! If I am very skillful, this time next year we could be celebrating at my own estate!"

copyright: 2016 Gloria J Goldsmith